The Postmortems
I was born into a rather wealthy family. We had a big house, a giant backyard and all the other "necessities" that any other rich family would have in their homes. My mom and dad were the stereotypical rich husband and wife, always playing tennis in the courtyard and drinking from expensive wine from their champagne glasses. I, however, hated the lavish lifestyle that was so unnaturally forced upon me. Always having to wear expensive clothes and keep a clean trimmed head or the occasional house gathering my parents so passionately hosted. I never had very many friends either. My parents would always try and introduce me to the snobby kids next door or the "well-mannered" kids from the private schools I resented so much. Tommy, the one person I'd actually like to be around was kinda like me except more… troubled. Tommy comes from a less fortunate family than mine so I rarely get to see him due to parental trust issues. The few times I have been to his house, however, were amazing. We were hardly ever inside, always finding new places to skate or any other miscellaneous things to do outside. But the best part going to his house was that he lives right next to a lake, Lake Kreator to be exact. From what Tommy told me it was a very large, very old lake and because of this Tommy would always try to unnerve me with old urban legends surrounding the lake. I went over to his house a couple days ago and it was raining outside so his mom made us stay inside. I was excited because it meant I could play games my mom would most likely disprove of. Tommy, however, had different plans. At about 2am we snuck out and made our way down to the lake, packing only a couple of blankets and some flashlights with extra batteries just in case. By the time we got the rain had stopped falling though there was a thick set of fog covering the now calm lake. While we set up, Tommy started to tell me another urban legend about the lake though this one seemed more sinister. He tried to convince me that every Sunday at exactly 3:33am a ritual took place on the eastern shore of the lake. A cult known by few as the Postmortems would burn members of the higher society at the cross and spread their ashes in the lake as a sacrificial bond. I fell asleep ending Tommy's sadistic horror story only to have my subconscious mind conjure up something sincerely wicked. "For the greed of thy neighbor shalt shadow upon the dystopian nature of the present state," was repeated over and over again in my head by what sounded like the raspy voice of an elderly women. I was suddenly being lifted by something my mind would not let me see. Higher and higher I was lifted until finally I stopped. My arms were spread in a horizontal manner and my feet put into a folded position. I looked down and noticed my nose was bleeding, I brought my hand to my face to wipe the blood, only there was none. It just seemed to be dripping from nowhere. My head was pulled back revealing a black sky and from it came water, not clear rain water but rather a brown murky water. The water hit my and stayed there. I flailed my arms and legs trying to grasp a breath of air. I was suddenly dropped from the sky, falling and falling for what seemed like hours. Finally I hit the ground waking me from my uncomfortable sleep. I was blinded by several bright lights illuminating the area around me revealing scores of black hooded figures. I tried to get up but my arms were tied to the left and right sides of a wooden cross as well as my feet being tied to the bottom. Three figures stepped forward and placed a box on the ground in front of me and then quickly retreated back to their ranks. The faint sound of drums could be heard off in the distance slowly growing louder until I could see who was making the sound. Four of the black hood figures marched in a line playing the drums in unison. There were four other figures behind them carrying what looked like a throne. On the throne sat a fairly tall being dressed in crimson red from the neck down and a black hood covering his face. The throne was set on the floor only meters from me. The man in red stood and slowly walked towards me, putting his face against mine and licking my cheek. He smelt of cheap whiskey and cigarettes, making for an unbearable aroma that stuck around even after he back a few feet. He picked up and opened the box revealing a sliver lighter inside. The red man raised his hands and thus the entirety of the congregation pulled matches from their robes in which they struck immediately. I cried out for help but to no avail for the closest house was about 50 meters away. I squirmed against the restraints though I knew my actions were futile. The crimson man sat back on his throne and struck his lighter, causing the congregation to walk forward with matched in front of them. One by one they threw their matches on the cross, igniting the flames. The flames engulfed me as I screamed and cried for help knowing it would never come. What I felt next was worse than the feeling of being burnt alive. The crimson man tore off his hood exposing the familiar face of my only friend, Tommy. A sickly smile grew on his face as he watched me burn. "For the greed of thy neighbor shalt shadow upon the dystopian nature of the present state." Category:Ritual